Darkest Desires
by ThisIsAnya
Summary: After a selfless sacrifice, Kingsley finds himself stuck in the Kingdom of Hell. As he makes a deal with the Queen of the Dead, he doesn't know that he is getting more than he bargained for. Old alliances are reborn and not everybody is who they seem...
1. Limbo

_**Author's Note: This starts where Chapter 64(if I remember correctly) of The Van Alen Legacy left of. I picked up their dialogue in the first part of this chapter and do not claim them as my own words. Hope you enjoy! :) **_

_Limbo_

They were stuck at a stalemate, Leviathan's spear at Kingsley's neck and his blade point blank at the demon's heart. Neither moved and neither planned to. Mimi saw all this and Kingsley knew what she intended to do.

"Stay right where you are, Force." he said as he turned to see her through the iron bars that separated them. "Don't come any closer."

"Why?" Mimi cried, "What are you going to do?" But her eyes were already glistening. He knew she saw the white light already forming. She knew what he was about to do, what he had to do.

"I'm going to destroy the path. It's the only way." Kingsley said, already prepared for the inevitable. He could save the blue bloods for now, but he would be trapped in Hell for eternity. It was a sacrifice he was already ready to take.

The tears were already forming in Mimi's eyes. "Don't." she said, desperately shaking her head.

_ She weeps for me._ Kingsley's gaze softened and he even tried a smile. "Do not cry for me, Azrael, do not waste your tears. You made your decision. This is mine." He wished he could wipe away her tears. "Sacrifice seems to be my destiny. A funny thing for a selfish man, isn't it?" He laughed. "They always called me weak back then… but maybe weakness is a strength of a kind."

Mimi pressed closer to the bars to get closer to him. He could weep at the bittersweet moment. Azrael wept for him; the fiery Agrippina who had once looked down on him was now shedding sad tears for him.

"Kingsley, I…"

He smiled his Cheshire grin and never took his eyes off her. Whether those tears were of love or of sympathy, it didn't matter anymore. He was glad to have even had an ounce of her attention, let alone those beautiful, wonderful, precious moments he had shared with Mimi. He always knew she'd choose Jack; Abbadon. It was foolish to have tried her. Once she was bonded with him, she would be stronger; she would be safe. He would not have to worry.

He called up the _subvertio_; the White Darkness. The ground rumbled and everything around them shook dangerously. He heard Leviathan shriek in pain. He himself could already feel the strength of the spell, a bright pain searing him.

Yet, he never looked away from Mimi. This would be the last time he'd see her.

_ Azrael…_

With no more words spoken, the bright light engulfed them.

* * *

><p>The first thing Kingsley felt upon waking up was the dose of extraordinary, burning pain. The <em>subvertio<em> had caused it, and he knew even his physical shell would not heal quickly even with his vampire ability. Leading a hand to his stomach, he felt the wetness of his wounds. Bringing his hand up to his face, his blood shone bright silver, the symbol of his eternal damnation.

For the first time he noticed that the voices of the Corruption were not with him. His insatiable desires were gone as well.

_ So I truly am in the underworld._

He was where he belonged and he did not have to suppress the urges, like he had for several centuries.

Only one deep desire was left in his heart.

He would never forget the way Mimi had looked at him. He would not forget her touch, her whispers or the way she held onto him, like she would never let him go, like she could not live without him. But it wasn't like that at all. Now it was him who had to finally accept the absolute truth. He'd never see her again.

When he had mustered enough energy, he stood up and looked around him. He was surely in the first circle of the Kingdom of Hell. To him, it appeared as a stretched version of the beach in Coney Island. There was a time he would visit the beach at Coney Island and drown out the Corruption's voices with the sound of the Red Bloods laughing and having fun. Sometimes it had worked, but this curse was something absolutely difficult to suppress, even with centuries of living with it.

But this was not Coney Island. It was deathly quiet and only the sounds of the ocean's waves could be heard. It was a gray, depressing knock-off.

Kingsley started to make his way down the length of the beach, limping a lot as he discovered a deep gash on his ankle. They just wouldn't heal fast enough. He hoped Leviathan was suffering just as much—maybe even more. The demon was surely already farther down in Hell.

For now, he was set on making his way to one of the existing gates leading back to Earth. Perhaps there was a way he could get through. He hoped against hope, knowing his blood would bar him from even getting close to the gates. After all, this was its true purpose, to keep the demons and Croatans at bay.

Walking was already taking forever, and he was still weak. Just as he was about to give in to the pain that was overtaking him, he saw that the beach had ended, and at the end of it was a small gate, not unlike a garden gate. He could've laughed; it looked so easy. Just a simple latch and a few steps beyond it would be home. But he knew it couldn't be that easy. Then again, he was one of the gatekeepers. Perhaps there was slight chance he had gained favors.

He moved toward it and got as close as he could to touching the gate. He put a hand on the latch, to his surprise, and tried to open it, but as soon as his hand fell upon it, an instantaneous jolt of pain coursed through his blood. It was as if fire ran through him and burned him from the inside. He gasped in pain and fell back. His wounds were raw and bled generously. He was short of breath, but he now knew he could touch the gate. Would he be able to pass through it?

Taking a moment to regain a bit of energy, he took a deep breath and tried again. As his skin made contact with the iron gate, the coursing pain came back. He tried to lift the latch, but a white fire burned him and he collapsed to the ground. It was as if his veins had imploded, his cursed blood flowing like a waterfall. He could've been good as dead then and there, weak, powerless, and hopeless.

Was there no way at all?

* * *

><p>Kingsley knew it could take a long time before a checkpoint showed up. The head honchos of Hell had a certain temperament and could let him wander in Limbo for years.<p>

Once he had recovered from the blood burning at the gate, he decided to go and pay a visit to the Queen of the Dead. He knew better than to ask her for a way out of Hell, but he was becoming increasingly desperate and irritable. He had no intention of staying.

He had gone up to the roadside where a sleek black motorcycle with a dark, exquisite gleam materialized. Hell was desolate and bleak, but it could be convenient.

His hair whipped against the wind as he sped down the road. For a moment, he almost forgot the pain in his wounds and the hurt in his heart. _Almost_.

It was as if he had driven for hours, seeing nothing except the road before him and the gray stormy ocean. He tried turning on the radio, but it played nothing but Wagner. It had been tolerable for a while, but when "Wedding March" played next, his stomach turned and he switched it off. Rain started to pour, but he sped even faster.

As the rain subsided, he finally came upon an ocean pier. It was bare and empty, but across it was a gas station guarded by two silver collared trolls. They spoke in grunts as he approached them. But he was tired of grunting; he'd done enough of that in pain.

He parked his motorcycle and walked closer to the station.

"Helda around?" he asked them as he drew nearer. The nine foot troll answered in perfect English. "Go right ahead." It gestured to the door leading to the station. He entered and took out his jack-knife sword, placing it on the counter before the she-troll could do a pat down. Without even knocking on the office door, he entered before the angered guard could catch up.

The Queen of the Dead looked far from being queenly in any sense. Her desk was filled to the brim with a mountain of files. She looked stern yet indifferent, not even raising her beady eyes to look up at him.

"I do not appreciate your barging in here, Araquiel." she said in a low voice. "What is it you want?"

"I want to go back." he stated coolly, though he knew this was a useless plea.

Still not looking up, she replied, "You know well I only deal with what comes in, not with what goes out. Unless you have something to barter or someone to claim you, I can do nothing."

The chances of either were slim. He had no soul to barter, for that was what she meant, and who would find the time to claim him from Hell? The remaining gates were still unknown and surely no one had time to think of saving him, not when there were far worse things happening above.

Yet he dared to think. _Would Mimi…_ no, he would not go there. She was not going to waste her time saving him. Hadn't she already chosen her twin? Yes, it was useless to hope. No one would save a Silver Blood traitor, reformed or not.

Finally, Helda looked up at him and looked him once over. "I may not be able to help you with what you want, but you may prove to be useful around here." she said to him. He merely raised an eyebrow, at a loss for words after everything that had happened.

She went back to her work, but added, "I will make a deal with you, but after you clean your wounds. You smell of blood."


	2. Enigma

_Enigma_

The journey to Tartarus was much easier than Kingsley's experience in Limbo. He was mildly surprised to have seen that the ferries used to transport the dead to the seventh circle had been upgraded to a subway system. He had the privilege of staying alone in Charon's private cabin. Another silver-collared being, a virago, served him several drinks, and he drank them all generously.

Even after his wounds had been cleaned and he had found time to relax, he was still restless, unable to think of anything or anyone else except Mimi.

He was wrong to have believed he could accept wholeheartedly his sacrifice. Ever since the incident between them in Rio occurred, everything had changed. It was like a confirmation call, acknowledging what they had been avoiding. For a long time he had hidden what he truly felt for Mimi, hidden it behind flirtatious teasing and dalliances. He had sensed her confusion at their altering relationship, but he never wished to take advantage of it.

_At least not wholly._

But that night she knocked on his hotel room door, it had been different. Perhaps it was the disappointment at having ultimately failed to reach the goal of their mission to find the Watcher, perhaps Mimi was simply in need of someone to talk to. Their eyes met and nothing else was said.

He had found happiness by Mimi's side, something he had yearned for centuries. To lose it as quickly as he had finally gained it was a slap to the face. The only thing he had now was an eternity without her. But he wouldn't be Kingsley Martin if he gave up that easily.

_If there's no way out, I'll make one._

Helda had offered him a deal he wouldn't refuse.

* * *

><p>"<em>I've been in need of a new right-hand man for quite some time now, but no one worthy or competent enough has come along for decades." She told him. Kingsley could already decipher her intention. "So you happen to believe I could take the position." He stated bluntly. She nodded. He leaned back on his chair in seeming contemplation. "What will I get in return?" he asked. Helda simply smirked. "Do not think that you can get away from the underworld by mere service. It will take more than that to be freed." she said, knowing his inner intentions. He was not fazed by this comment and returned a mischievous smirk. "But you could do it of course. Send me back, that is." he casually remarked. Without losing the expression on her face, she laughed coldly. "It is not a matter of what I can or can't do, but rather how the rules apply. If I didn't adhere, do you think Heaven and Earth would still exist?"<em>

_It had been laid clear before him. He knew she was one of the old goddesses, older than he was. There was no doubt she had some kind of power that could help him. But she was a strict rule follower and would not flaunt her powers just to help him. He would have to earn his pay. _

"_If I don't take this job, what are my other chances?" he asked earnestly. Helda had gone back to her papers, as if the conversation had been concluded and she had already gotten him to agree. Not that she was wrong though. "You'll just be another wandering soul with no purpose. Your fellow Silver Bloods do not seem to be pleased with your past decisions and could do what they please. I have no power over them from here, of course." She stressed her last statement as if it were a pain in the neck, like a teacher remarking when asked about naughty students. "You'll be fine when they hear you're working for me. No one would dare touch any of my consiglieri, not even Leviathan." Kingsley grinned. "Well that's quite an extensive influence." He stood up to head out the door. "When is my trip to the capital then? That's where you need me, isn't it?" he asked before heading out the door._

"_Take the road. Charon knows his task." She had said in a dismissive tone._

* * *

><p>Kingsley's reverie was broken when he heard the train come to a halt. He stood up and was greeted by Charon. The old ferryman looked at him with cold, steel gray eyes. He was a tall, gaunt and imposing figure. His hair was the same color as his eyes, and he was dressed in black.<p>

He spoke in a shadowy whisper. "You should know what you are about to enter. Once you get off, there is no returning to the upper circles." He said. Kingsley gave him a cold glare. "And I only learn of this now?" Charon laughed; it was a chilling sound to the ear. "Helda knew you wouldn't accept if you knew." He moved to the side to let Kingsley pass. He couldn't go back now, it would be pointless. This was another variable to his problem, but it was a minor one.

He stepped onto the platform and headed for the exit. He was greeted by the false image of New York, a disarrayed version of the bustling city. All around him was a vision of deterioration and the smell of death. The sickly sweet smell of rotting garbage and corpses pervaded his senses. The underworld was lit by the Black Fire, the only fire that could extinguish the _sangre azul_ and any other being in existence. All around, people—or rather, demons and souls—walked, neither wreaking havoc nor even simply talking. It was, by all means, a place bereaved of life and energy.

"Araquiel." He turned his eyes away from the falling city and looked at who had called his name. It was another virago. She was a striking vision to behold. Her hair was a shade of vivid red but her eyes were a dull blue, as if she were bored with life, or whatever could be called a life in the underworld.

What made her unusual to him wasn't her red hair, which could have stopped a number of people if she were to walk through Central Park, but that she wasn't wearing the silver collar that they were assigned to wear. It was what kept them under control, under order, making them servants for the higher ranking residents of Hell. Without it they were wild and uninhibited. In place of it, she merely wore a silver pendant.

The virago walked towards him with an unexpected gracefulness, a grace that didn't match the surroundings. It was peculiar, but Kingsley would save that question for a later time.

"And you are?" Kingsley asked. She was inexpressive as she replied. "I am referred to as Irina." she said, "I am one of Helda's auxiliaries here in Tartarus. She ordered me to pick you up and assist you in any way I can." She spoke in a voice that dripped with a certain allure. She then turned on her heel and approached a heavily tinted black car. The driver, a troll, opened the door for her. He followed her suit into the car and they were off.

He glanced at her for a moment. She was pretty, he thought. "Where are we going?" he asked her. Without even glancing away from the window, she said, "To the Duke's Arms, where you'll be staying. Everyone under Helda's jurisdiction stays there. And now, since you are her new consigliere, you have top command." A disapproving sigh slipped from her lips, the first time she ever expressed any sense of emotion. It did not go unnoticed by Kingsley. "You don't seem to approve of that arrangement." He said.

"Rather." She admitted. Kingsley smirked. "And why would that be?" he questioned her. She turned to glare at him. "It doesn't matter." She said lightly.

Before he could throw her another question, the car stopped and she stepped out quickly. He saw his new residence as stepped out of the car. It was more of a palace of some sort, an eyesore of pink columns and gold cherubim. As he entered, it was even more flamboyant than expected.

He watched as Irina handed a troll her coat, revealing her beautiful figure. She was dressed in a simple formfitting blue blouse, a tight black pencil skirt and black stilettos. She was certainly interesting. "You." She pointed to one of the trolls by the door, "Show Araquiel where he is to stay." She ordered. Without any final acknowledgement, she left the room.

Kingsley couldn't help but grin.

_Seems things will be interesting after all. _

What a splendid mess the underworld was. Yet nothing could have been more lackluster than his new job. He kept the demons in line, made sure that the dead arrived when they were supposed to arrive, and kept relations with all the other demons. It was like being a mobster, making deals and breaking deals. Irina had proven to be helpful to him, yet she avoided him like the plague when she could. It seems she did not like taking orders from anyone except Helda.

He was in his home office, sorting papers when she entered abruptly.

"Still don't have manners, do we?" Kingsley teased. He enjoyed setting her off; it was one of his newfound hobbies. Irina scowled at him and crossed her arms. "Do not insult me." She spat, "You know I dislike you." Kingsley spun his chair around and put his feet upon his desk. "I know that," he said calmly, "But the reason why still eludes me. Everyone else seems to be more receptive to me, yet you seem to hate me very well." A look of annoyance flashed through Irina's blue eyes. "I am not inclined to like you; it's as simple as that." She said, taking a seat on one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Fenrir wants to extend an invitation to you," she then said seriously, "He says he wants to meet the new Duke of Hell."

Kingsley's ears perked up as he heard the mention of the Hellhound's name. He knew Fenrir to be one the first original Hellhounds, and down here they had a special syndicate, not unlike their counterparts in Rome—the Praetorian Guard.

"By all means, why not." He said coolly. Irina handed him an invitation, which was as hard, black and luminous as a stone, yet as light as paper. "It's for tonight, down at their private nightclub." She added as she stood up and walked towards the door to leave. Kingsley watched her slow saunter as she reached the door.

"Will you be there?" he dared to ask. He wasn't sure what drove him to want to know where she was or where she would be; it was just that this interest felt like it came naturally.

She turned her head to the side and looked at him from the corner of her eye. "I have to be. Fenrir… values my presence." She said, stepping out and closing the door behind her. He stared at the closed door after her, wondering how a lowly virago could be of importance to the head hellhound.

There was something peculiar about Irina; she was treated differently from the other viragos like she was equal to their ranks. He remembered her freedom of the silver collar and thought that maybe she was just a bit more ambitious than the others and had earned herself some trust and respect from the upper echelons of Hell.

But it wasn't just that. The first moment Kingsley saw her, there had been a certain connection made, and he hadn't stopped wondering if it was just him who had that inclination.

But what did it matter to him anyway? He was only here to do his job, to earn his freedom. The rest of them were just pawns for him to use in his little game.

Without further thought he stood up from his ebony table.

He had a party to attend.

* * *

><p><em><strong>A.N. Reviews would be appreciated very much! I've been on the fence about continuing this fanfic, as I've been on some sort of writer's block. But of course, my love for Kingsley is keeping it alive. <strong>_

_**Feel free to suggest anything, or at least state what you think happens next. ;)**_


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